Blurred Lines
by DragonMistress333
Summary: A one-shot based on the song told through the eyes of Seto Kaiba. Warning - plotless lemon ahead and a twist ending!


Well, this is a one-shot that is pretty damn pointless. It's basically a PWP, but maybe you're into that kinda thing. Based on the song "Blurred Lines" by Robert Thicke. There are some lyrics actually slung in here and there. Review please to let me know what you think of my shameless porn!

I hate parties. Drunk and high people throwing themselves at me in pathetic attempts to gain my attention. Like they think they're worth my time. As I said, pathetic. Yet here I am, at a party, drink firmly in hand. It's the fifth one so far, and I'm about to make a move onto the sixth. Deep within the pockets of my trench coat lies a pungent blunt, waiting to be smoked. I'm much less of an asshole when I'm high, I must admit. Which is exactly why I don't do it around anyone else. As a ruthless businessman, being an asshole is my job, and I'm not about to change that lest anybody try to take advantage of the situation. This isn't even a classy party hosted by some businessmen ass-kissing their way into deals with false words and overpriced champagne. I'm at a fucking club, albeit an exclusive one, but a club none the less. Why, one might ask?

Maybe I'm going deaf, maybe I'm going blind, maybe I'm out of my mind. Surely I am to be pursuing you, when you clearly are taken. Like it matters to me. I don't care that he used to be a pharaoh, and that you're always smiling when you're together. Apparently he even asked you to marry him. So, now he was close, tried to domesticate you, but you're an animal, it's in your nature. So you bolted, and your friends called me up to invite me here, saying that he needed to have some fun before making such a big decision. They're all presuming you'll say yes. Why? Because you always do the right thing, and a heart of gold like yours wouldn't dare dream of hurting somebody else. You're a good girl through and through, even if only in the metaphorical sense. And that's exactly why I want you to myself. You don't care about money, status, or fame, of which I have plenty enough to go around. You're all about heart and soul, honesty and integrity.

All the people who want me want me for the things you don't care about; they're fake and shallow, insipid and infuriating. You're far from plastic, though. You're the realist person I've ever met.

"You getting blasted, moneybags?" I hear your voice, slightly slurred, beside me. Talk about getting blasted….I have moved through two more drinks, but I have a feeling you've far surpassed me. I hate these blurred lines, especially the ones that concern my feelings for you. I thought it was hate for the longest time, but when I saw you get together with him I felt an ache that shouldn't have accompanied what I thought was hate. It was a nasty little emotion called jealousy, and I realized I hated _him_ for getting to you first. Then you grab my arm to force me to face you. And by the way you grab me, you must want to get nasty. Well, go ahead, get at me.

I smirk at you, my very trademark smirk, when I see the playful look in your eyes. It's gone though as you turn away from me, to wave at one of those little cheerleader friends of yours. And I must say, what do they make dreams for, when you have those jeans on? I think there should be some kind of award dedicated to just how perfect your ass looks in those tight, teasingly low slung jeans. I see plenty of girls and guys dressed in their best, makeup and hair done perfectly, outfits impeccable. They're nothing compared to you though. You're the hottest bitch in this place. Then you turn to face me again, pain evident in your eyes.

"I don't wanna do it!" you confess as you latch yourself to me. I feel so lucky. Out of all your friends here tonight, you want to hug me. What rhymes with hug me? Fuck me; so as far as I'm concerned, coming here was a splendid idea. Maybe taking advantage of you when you're going through a crisis and intoxicated is an asshole move, but I know you want it.

Like I said, you're an animal. If only you'd let me liberate you, you don't need those papers, that man is not your maker. And I'd gladly give you something that tear that ass in two. He's too square for you, he would never smack that ass or pull your hair like I know you want. But for now instead of pulling that mentioned hair, I run my fingers through it gently as you bury your face in my chest. It's silky smooth, the multicolored lights of this club glistening off of the stramineous strands.

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because he's suffocating!" you respond, and I'm not surprised. I have oftentimes compared you to a dog, but in reality you're more akin to a feline. You want space, and if you do need affection you seek it out, on your terms. You don't want it forced on you. You're independent and curious, and don't respond well to demands. Though you aren't self-centered like a cat, and you are as fiercely loyal as the dog I compare you to. I know because I'm the same way, with the exception that I am quite self-centered. Why? Because to put it simply, I'm the shit. Anyway, I see your friends starting to stare at us, and decide that if I am going to stake my claim on you, it would be better to do it away from them. You are going to be mine, that's not the issue. The issue is that I know you and your conscious would never give in with them watching. You would never want them to think any less of you, as it always your goal to please others and be the good guy. I, though, could give two shits about what others think about me. The only person I care about pleasing is me, and of course my brother, and, as of late, you.

With that in mind, I pull you away to go to my car. Of course it ungodly expensive and flashy and a gas guzzler. Like I would be caught dead driving something practical and middle class like a Honda. Please. You follow behind me, glancing back at your friends, maybe for guidance, maybe for reassurance, maybe for permission. I don't know nor do I care. I always get what I want, and right now I want you. You'll forget all about him by the end of the night. The guy might can kick my ass at duel monsters, but he obviously doesn't understand you at all. His ignorance will be his loss and my gain. People might say I'm a control freak, but he is way worse than I am. I know better than to try to control you. You're too independent, too stubborn, and too proud. Just like me, actually. That's why we're perfect, because neither one of us needs the other.

We reach my car and you hesitantly climb into the passenger seat. I even hold open the door for you like a gentlemen and smile reassuringly like the good soon to be boyfriend I am. Truth be told I hate chivalry and it seems insulting to practice it on someone as masculine as you, but at this point I need you to trust me. I really do have your best interests at heart. Me. I climb into the driver's side, gracefully of course, and decide the perfect way to get you to loosen up; the big fat blunt in my pocket.

"He is very overbearing from what I can tell," I tell you, breaking the tense silence. You smile and nod.

"Yeah, he's worse than my father ever was. He questions everything I do, tries to tell me what to do with my life, and never leaves me alone. He's been texting me all damn night, and my friends too. It's just too much," you lament, sighing heavily.

"You need to relax, and this will help you," I say, lighting the blunt up and taking some very drawn out puffs before passing it to you.

"You smoke pot? I would have never guessed," you do looked rather shocked, and look at it like it might bite you.

"Yeah, even I need to relax every once in a while, and this is much better than getting wasted. No hangover and no risk of vomiting or passing out. I presume you've done this before," I explain, feeling more at ease as the THC does its work.

"It's been awhile. All of my friends are like narcs so I quit it a long time ago. But getting high with the great Seto Kaiba is too great an opportunity to pass up. I might see you laugh, and that would be priceless," you smile your perfect and sparkling smile before taking a drag. Obviously it _has _been a while because you immediately choke on it.

"Can you breathe?" I ask as you violently cough, your eyes watering from your exertion. You nod and decide to try again, inhaling it deeply and holding it in like a pro. Maybe it's like riding a bike, you always remember how no matter how long it's been. You smoke on it one more time before handing it back to me, your eye lids already drooping.

"Where'd you get this shit? It's really fucking strong," your voice is slower, more drawn out and still slurred. It's doing weird things to your strong accent.

"I got this from Jamaica. It's always worked for me," I reply, hitting it again. And a few more times just for good measure before I pass it back to you.

"Oh course rich boy has to have the real shit, how typical," you roll your eyes as you take your turn. Clearly you are enjoying, as you so eloquently put, the real shit, if your completely relaxed and goofy grin have anything to say about it.

"I always have the best money can buy, whatever it is. Illegal substances are no exception," I state the obvious, and you roll your eyes and laugh out loud.

"You're too flashy with your money, you know that? It's such a turn off," you state as you take another slow puff.

"If you had it, you'd flash it, too," I counter but I know it's a lie. You're a very humble person, though you probably would invest in a nice car or two. Any male would, though I never figured out why males are so fascinated with having nice rides. I'm a victim to the stereotype, seeing as every car I own is a mechanical wet dream.

"Maybe on a sweet ride, but I don't see the point in mansions, designer clothes, limos, hired help, five-star restaurants, or extravagant jewelry. I think it's an obnoxious demand for attention. A person doesn't need to surround themselves with material things to show off to prove how successful they are. Success should speak for itself," the seriousness of your voice catches me off guard. Of course you would think that way, you've never had money. I've worked very hard for mine, and intend to enjoy it to the fullest. It just reminds me why I want you so much. You're so down to earth it really is unreal. I've never met someone as grounded as you, and I doubt I ever will. But we're getting off topic, and I need to steer the conversation away from things you dislike about me if I stand a chance with you.

"So, are you planning on telling Yami yes or what?" I questions, changing the subject abruptly. The smile on your face falters and you look away to avoid my gaze.

"I don't want to break his heart," you say softly, "He really cares about me, you know? No one's ever cared about me like that before, and I doubt anyone else will," the self-doubt in your voice is practically screaming at me. One thing I've always despised about you is your inability to appreciate yourself. Everyone but you sees what a great person you really are. I've always wondered what happened to you to make you that way.

"What makes you say that?" I ask, curious as to what could possibly make you unlovable. By now we've finished off the pot, and I feel at ease enough to talk freely and let go of my asshole image.

"Don't act like you care, because I know you don't. I don't even know why you're here, and why I'm here with you. You've always made it crystal clear how much you can't stand me," your voice is tinged with pain, as though it hurts you to say that. I can't really defend myself either, since I always have been a dick to you. Probably the only way I can redeem myself to you now is to be completely honest and admit that I do, in fact, have feelings. I cringe at the thought, but if I'm going to win you over, I'll have to let my defenses down. You're excellent at detecting bullshit, too, so I know I can't feed you lies.

"I'm here because I want to be here. Here with you to be exact. I know I'm an asshole to you but I do care about you. That's why I think you should dump his ass. He's not right for you at all, and if you go through with it you'll be miserable. You of all people deserve to be happy," I almost gag on my words because I'm not used to saying anything to anybody but Mokuba that's remotely nice or encouraging. You look at me as though I've transformed into the Blue Eyes White Dragon wearing a dress.

"You being serious or is this some elaborate plot to gain my trust so you can humiliate me?" you ask warily, distrust evident in your dark honey colored eyes. I've obviously berated you to the point that you believe I'm not capable of doing anything but putting you down.

"I'm sorry, if I wasn't such an ass to you then you would know I'm being serious. I don't bullshit," I nearly choke on the apology, because I never say sorry for anything. But I truly am sorry I have pushed you so far away when I want you to be so close.

"Oh, thanks, I guess. All of my friends want me to say yes. They think we're perfect together," you said with morose in your tone.

"You need to think about yourself for once. What do you really want? I know what you need and it isn't him," I counter, trying to convince you to not throw your future away just because you always insist on being selfless. You look down again, though this time you look embarrassed about something.

"Tell me what I need, Seto," you command softly. I'm a bit taken aback by the use of my first name, and am deciding the best way to answer. Your gaze once again lifts to meet mine, and I see the expectancy, the urgency for my answer.

"You need someone that wants you, but doesn't need you. You need someone that knows how to be rough with you, then turn around and be gentle. You need someone who will argue with you, challenge you, someone who isn't afraid for you to be yourself. You're a free spirit, an animal that might be tamed, but still needs room to roam. You need me," I finish, and see your eyes widen as you blink in shock.

"I don't need you Seto, I don't need anyone. I'm fine by myself," you reply, and I feel quite rejected until you continue, "I want you, there's a difference."

Your expression mirrors your statement. I see the long-denied want in your eyes. You're so beautiful it should be illegal. The way that mess of hair falls onto your face, perfectly framing your warm, expressive eyes. Your face is the perfect mix of masculine and feminine. Full, shapely lips and long, thick lashes that would make any woman green with envy. But the definition of your jaw and cheeks is all man. It's striking. Not to mention your long and lean body, perfectly proportioned, all of it covered with glimmering peaches-and-cream skin.

"You have no idea how stunning you are," I tell you sincerely, and you blush in response, the pink hue gracefully warming up your strong cheekbones.

"Well, you're pure perfection. I've always been attracted to you, but you never seemed interested so I hooked up with Yami," you say shyly, and it's obvious you've never told this to anybody before.

"Well I'm interested now. I know you want it," I whisper and I lean myself into your personal space, close enough for your breath to mingle with mine.

"I do, but I'm still with Yami. I could never cheat on him, especially with you. None of them would ever forgive me," you say this, but make no move to get away from me, even as I caress your face and let my fingers tangle themselves in your hair. I pull on the strands, and you let out a gasp, and it sounds like it's far from pain. I smirk, and use my grip on your head to pull your head back, baring your slender neck to me. I kiss the offered flesh none to gently. The gasp is louder this time.

"Seto, stop, please. This isn't right," your voice sounds your more trying to convince yourself than me and as I work your pulse point, and you can't deny the moan that slips from your mouth.

"I'm never wrong," is my reply, growled against your throat. I move up to the skin beneath your ear and suck there, earning another gasp and I feel your body tense as you try to deny what's happening. Next I use my teeth to nip at your earlobe, and let my tongue trace over the appendage. You're breathing faster now, and your tense body shudders.

"I can't do this. Please stop," you're pleading now, I can see it as I glance at your face. I can see you want to give in and let me have my way, but that you're afraid of being the bad guy.

"I'm giving you what you want, Katsuya. That man is not your man. Here's our beginning," I murmur into your ear, as I look at the conflict written all over your face. Finally, you make up your mind, and grab my face to turn it more towards you. The kiss you deliver is pure, unadulterated need, breathtaking in its intensity.

"Move your seat back as far as you can," you command against my lips, and I know where this is heading. I'm about to have a lapful of puppy shoved between me and the steering wheel. I comply, because this is going much better than expected. As soon as I'm done you've managed to straddle me and kiss me again, one hand pulling at my hair and one hand working on unbuttoning my shirt. I let your tongue dominate mine, content to let you control to see where this goes. Next time we'll do things my way. And there is definitely going to be a next time. Now that I have I'll be damned if I let you go.

You pull back and all I can see on your face is pure desire as you strip me of my shirt and pull yours over your head. Both of them end up in the backseat. I let my gaze drink in the sight of your flawless body, and once again latch myself onto your neck. I know from where you're sitting you can feel just how turned on I am, and from what I can feel pressing against me, the feeling is mutual. You immediately tip your head back to allow me full access to the expanse of your neck. I make sure to leave marks, and the harder I suck and bite the more you gasp. It figures the all-around nice guy likes it rough. I use my hand to grab firmly onto your ass so I can grind you against me rather roughly. I am rewarded with a drawn out moan and you pinching my nipples. I make a sound of my own at the dual sensation. Your hands drift down and make quick work of my belt before you shimmy yourself down, somehow fitting yourself in the space between the steering wheel and the floorboard.

Your eyes never leave mine as you yank my pants down with ease. I'm not sure how you do it in such a cramped space. You must have a lot of car sex experience. I rather enjoy the sight and sensation I get as you teasingly lick the head of my penis, your gaze is intense with passion before you close your eyes and swallow me all the way. It's my turn to moan at feeling of your warm and wet mouth sucking and moving with expert ease. If you could duel as well as you give head you would beat Yugi Motou in one turn. My natural reaction is to thrust into it, since you obviously have no gag reflex to worry about, but you pin my hips down with your hands as you continue to work your magic. You must sense that I'm about to orgasm because you stop and slither back into my lap.

"I'd rather feel it inside of me," the tone of your voice is probably the sexiest thing I've ever heard. I'm not sure if you're referring to my orgasm or the erection itself, but either way it's a damn hot statement. Somewhere in the middle of this you've managed to remove the rest of your clothes, and I have no the faintest idea how you pulled that off. Suddenly we're kissing again, hotter and heavier than ever. It's at that moment I smack your perfect ass. Hard. To my surprise and delight you groan into my mouth, and when I do it a second time you moan and whimper. In response you wrap your hand around my erection, and I'm not sure what you're doing.

At that moment you pull away from my lips and bite my shoulder to muffle your cries as you impale yourself on me. No lube, no preparation, and completely unexpected. You are incredibly tight so I'm certain that had to have hurt you, and I dare not move lest I hurt you further. Against my shoulder I feel you take a deep breath as your body relaxes and you start moving. It's not a slow pace of someone who's uncomfortable and wants to draw the sex out, it's the pace of someone who wants it and wants it hard, and that's exactly how I give it to you. I know I've hit your prostrate dead on when you scream, arch your back sharply, and throw your head back. I've had plenty of fantasies about you, in this position no less, but the picture I see before me is much more erotic than anything I could ever conjure up. Your skin is flushed and shining with a thin sheen of sweat, your swollen red lips are parted ever so slightly, your golden hair clings to your forehead, and your eyes are half closed and filled with ecstasy.

We're going at it fast and furious, and I doubt you're going to be able to walk in the morning, but if this is what you wanted then this is what I'm going to give you. Currently my hands are gripping your hips, guiding your movements, but as I sense I won't last much longer, I free a hand to stroke your neglected member with the same intensity and rhythm as our sex. It is an unspoken rule that the uke should always come first, and I want to ensure that happens. This warrants another scream, and an expletive as well. I must say, you are quite a screamer, and I am not even remotely as loud as you. Anyone within the next five blocks can probably hear you, and I wonder if you've ever been this vocal with Yami.

"Fuck, Seto, do not fucking stop, I'm almost there," you manage between your moans and gasps. Why the hell would I stop? I'm enjoying this just as much as you are, even if I'm not as loud about it. In response I thrust up even harder, if that's even possible at this point. The cry that rips from your throat is strangled, caught somewhere between a scream and a moan. I'm pretty damn close myself, and I wonder how I'm supposed to outlast you. To try to get you there a little faster I bite into your shoulder, and this unexpected pain is your undoing.

"GODDAMNIT SETO!" you screech as you finally hit your climax, which is good because I can't hold mine back any longer. I'm so close behind you it feels like we both came at the same time. I let go growling your name a bit loudly into the skin of your shoulder. The next few moments are filled with our harsh breathing, both of us struggling to catch our breath after our exertion. Coming down from my euphoria, I decide to ask you something that will either drive you away or make you mine forever. I look straight into your hazy eyes as I ask.

"Katsuya, will you marry me?" no dates, no love declarations, and one round of sex and I'm asking you to commit to me for life. It's pretty fucking crazy.

"Only if you love me," you smile sweetly, and I can't help but be a little shocked that you're complying so easily.

"I love you very much, puppy," the smile on my face is genuine, and the way your eyes sparkle lets me know you feel exactly the same even before the words leave your lips.

"And I love you, Seto, and now I have forever to prove it," and with that cheesy statement it is mission accomplished.

As usual, I get what I want. Going after you like I did might have been an asshole move, but it certainly paid off. I will never get tired of getting my way. Now I just have to make sure you don't either. And suddenly the blurred lines are crystal clear.


End file.
